


glory and (gore)

by griffins



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, a bit of love a bit of smut, after the war with mount weather, declaration of love basically, finn (mentioned) - Freeform, its sort of reunion kind of thing, minor smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-18 00:04:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3548576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/griffins/pseuds/griffins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>when a soldier comes back from war, he expects his wife to be waiting.<br/>but clarke griffin isn't bellamy blake's wife, but partner, yes, partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	glory and (gore)

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this on tumblr but i decided to post this here, idk

They did it.

They had suddenly found a way to remove Mount Weather after all, Raven had found a way to stop the acid fog, Bellamy had secured his people and Clarke led all her people to victory.

Sky had become coral, splashes of cobalt, yellow and pink smeared across the settling heaven, the sun had fallen from its inevitable throne. The tiny abundant stars had suddenly felt closer to when they were on the Ark, and all was restored. Graves were made of course, for those lost warriors that fought to their inevitable death, those who engraved their names on their stump for significance. Fallen warriors, they were, and generations from now would wonder who built this town and it definitely wasn’t the ones who took those lives.

Oh, those lives would be remembered as the distractions, the villains that never got to the last page. But some lives were innocent, and were caught in the crossfire and all they wanted was life, but they got death.

The City of Light had suddenly become the talk of the restored community because no one else could wonder what was going to happen now - the grounders were startlingly not plotting some sort of betrayal and war against their allies and the Sky people were waiting for that to happen.

And so, Thelonious Jaha, the _so called_ messiah was expected to lead his people home and where was he? His presence was unidentified. But don’t worry, hope also consumed these people’s souls and what happened? They won. Well, at least some of them. Some felt as if they were out of place and that the sacrifices they made were in vain, they were just too much.

Clarke felt an impulsive void inside of her, as she stood in the last remnants of her tent, burnt to crisp after the latest missile had shot through to the ark. It wasn’t the home that consumed the last miscellany of her hope, but it was someone. But she didn’t know, hell - she had just lost Finn. That would’ve explained the pang in her heart and the nullity she saw in the cerulean of her eyes. The palm of her hand was blemished after she had slit the throat of a dying warrior, and she had blood on her hands. A lot of blood. She couldn’t count how many events she was accounted for because what’s worse than knowing you’re guilty? _Nothing_. She was sure that there was something worse - meaning that nothing was possible on the earth.

Maybe the void inside of her was regarding of something else or someone else, but jumping to sudden conclusions wasn’t of her. She was full of fatigue and worry and suddenly something didn’t feel right about this. It was like her deep concern about the Mountain because of course, if Clarke Griffin has a gut feeling - something is obviously erroneous.

It’s a trait she picked up from Abby Griffin, but her mother couldn’t mend hearts like she could mend cuts, it doesn’t take a few pins and stitches to remove the heartbreak and trauma from her people. Abby didn’t have the power to do that, so that’s what made Clarke different from Abby - she may eighteen, sweet and full of unresolved life but she was the iron fist and everyone around her was the velvet glove.

This was too okay. Everything felt at peace and what? They were left with no home, even if it was remotely suitable for camp and groups were suddenly separating. It was distressing to acknowledge that. But what was she supposed to do? Replace her mother? It was clear enough that she had more power over the Sky people and the grounders, but now that the war was over - her job was done. Or so she thought.

"Clarke," Indra’s voice resounded through the small camp, but the significance of Clarke’s name no longer remained effective, instead, it was more like a one-time ally kind of greet - a dismiss, "you have a horse waiting for you to take you back to the Ark." Her facial expression was stoic, as always, but the black makeup she tend to put on almost wore away, making her seem vulnerable and almost less menacing. She didn’t think Indra would remain - out of all people - because she was vengeful, and there were still some problems unresolved but Octavia seemed to really gain her trust, otherwise, Clarke would have this campsite as her dying wish.

"I - I don’t think I’m ready to go," her voice felt strained and fatigue was evident - she was waiting for someone but who? She wasn’t sure on who her family was - specifically - because Raven hated/loved her and it made her perplexed, her mother was her somehow new-found enemy and Octavia was a friend and Bellamy … where the hell was Bellamy? "Wait, is Bellamy back?"

"I don’t concentrate on the names of the Sky people," she titled her head, "but I do know that I have zero-patience for star-gazers, now come on, we’re leaving."

Clarke slowly trekked over the bits and pieces of the camp, following Indra’s footsteps, although it made her seem credulous and lost. A black horse was huddled against a tree, neighing uncontrollably and she saw a white flash escape its obscure eyes, making her step back in fright. She was obviously seeing things - Finn was still imprinted in her head and he was masquerading in a black horse, indicating how he asphyxiated against the pressure and died as a dark knight, in her lonely arms. A warm tear slipped down the slope of her bloated cheek because the memory was still too much. He didn’t deserve to die because she was his love, but he did at the same time because he took lives - why was he so damn stupid?

She sniffled and paid attention to reactions she received, smiling sheepishly as she jumped against the horse, landing with both legs on the each sides. “Let’s go.”

 

 

 

#

 

 

 

Back at the Ark, everybody was getting ready for their celebratory feast - which consisted of ravish dogs Grounders had hunted a few hours ago. As she entered, the horse drew abundant attention and people started to look at Clarke like they … wanted something or expected something. The fireplace underneath the pile of abundant wood had erupted feverishly, the vivacity of the celebration had kept bubbling - it felt alive - just not to her. She plucked at the hem of her shirt once she had jumped off her horse, examining how dishevelled she looked. The people looked at her intently, expecting significant words to fall out of her mouth as if she had overcame her battle scars during that long break.

She gritted her teeth, yanking a bottle of alcohol off of a person’s grip, gulping large remnants of the drink before exclaiming, “yu gonplei ste odon!” And it was true. Their fight was over and they didn’t have to worry about being killed in their next wake. The people jeered animatedly and violently, leaving Clarke to confide in some solace and separation from the busy crowd. She stood in her tent, rummaging through bags to find any spare clothes - because she hadn’t changed in days and her clothes had every reminder of what had happened for the past week. It had so much blood.

But that wasn’t bothering her: where the hell were her friends? She was sure that Raven was here, maybe that was the reason to why she was so distressed. She needed a friend, even though she killed the only family of that friend.

She yanked the tent zipper open and walked outside to see that the party still lived on, so she went sauntered towards the Ark, but only finding two guards standing before the doors. “Let me in.” They hastily pressed a button which mechanically opened the doors, and with an annoyed expression, Clarke strolled in and to the last room of the Ark, she found Raven, busy with the radios.

"Raven," tentatively, she called out and hastily, Raven turned towards her with a relieved expression. All of the sudden, without Clarke’s acknowledgment, Raven embraced her into an tight yet reassuring hug and swiftly, Clarke knew that she still had someone to talk to. “I - How are you?” She gradually looked down on Raven’s crippled leg, biting her lip to keep the pity from showing.

"It’ alright," she shrugged. "I mean, it sucks not travelling with you guys and actually doing something but I’m working on it. I’m building radios and stuff, it helps me think beyond this stupid leg.” She laughed fretfully, hoping to conceal the frustration she built up inside. And Clarke saw that.

"I’m sorry." She blurted out, her eyes gazing onto her leg.

"It’s fine." She heaved awkwardly, shuffling back to her station.

"Have you seen Bellamy?" Clarke didn’t understand why she was eager to see Bellamy, maybe it was because he didn’t arrive with the 47, or that he was essential to surviving this place. He was familiar. And whether she liked it or not, she missed him - maybe the void was indicating a bit too much. Raven titled her head, almost teasing, as if she acknowledged the undying connection between the king and the princess. “I just - I’m worried he hasn’t made it back - the last thing I was is for him to be dead.”

Oh the thought of losing Bellamy Blake suddenly seemed worse to imagine - she had lost too many people already, the last thing she wanted on this colossal earth was to lose the one thing that actually felt closer to home.

She was his partner in crime and besides, his people needed him. Her eyes fluttered involuntarily, grasping the chair so she could breathe - she was seriously apprehensive about this. “I’m sure he’s fine, Clarke.”

Clarke scoffed, “you don’t know that. I’m going to go check outside to see if he’s arrived. I’ll see you later, alright?” She quickly glanced at Raven’s leg again and dismissed the sentiment, hurriedly walking out of the ark.

The crowd began to progressively dispersed into small conversations and the entrance suddenly became the only thing that caught Clarke’s attention. She sighed inwardly because waiting seemed like a lost cause, but Bellamy wasn’t a lost cause. She had a feeling that he was still alive, just a little far from her.

 _Maybe a little hope would suffice_ , she thought. She gnawed at her lip habitably, rubbing her hands against a wooden stake, catching abundant splinters but that didn’t seem to faze her. She gritted her teeth and walked to the next guard by the gate, “call me if you see Bellamy Blake, alright?”

She speedily walked into Bellamy’s tent, running a callous hand through her hair. This wasn’t right. The cold was too much and the goose bumps were the evidence, but she didn’t even take a chance to rub her arms to increase warmth, instead she just waited, in his tent. It seemed a bit too intimate to be waiting in his tent, for him to come back to Clarke looking like a soldier’s wife finally seeing her husband, it was uncanny but they’ve shared that kind of connection when they hugged last time.

She saw the zip of his tent shuffle, and there, a mound of wet, curly hair peaked out of the opening and there stood Bellamy Blake, patched with blemishes and cuts, but still forged of iron.

His brows furrowed to why Clarke was sitting there, but she moved into his arms as rapid as lightening from him to react. Her arms wrapped around his torso, her head burying itself in the crook of his neck, diffidently, like last time, his arms gradually wrapped around her timid waist - and suddenly, all was right with this world. “I thought you were dead, I thought - you didn’t even communicate through the radio.”

"I lost my radio in Mount Weather, I’m sorry," he didn’t understand why she was so affected by his absence, but it felt nice. She looked up at him, her azure eyes glistening in awe to examine the rare beauty of his face - she could kiss him from this angle, but it would seem a bit too forward. He reminded of her of a fox, persistent and rare, but this olive skinned king seemed a bit too much to be described as a fox.

"I can’t lose you again," she drawled, licking the parched skin of her lips.

"Why?" He slowly moved from the hug, sauntering to his table to pick out a fresh clean shirt. He teasingly - well Clarke thought that - slipped off his shirt and his broad shoulders and back seemed to flex. His skin was soft and olive-skinned and it made her cringe at the thought of such desperation. "I thought you only said that because I was essential, I mean, Finn was sort of essential before he decided to massacre a village. But why now? The war is over, Clarke, and yet this sentiment still confuses me."

She didn’t know how to retort to that because she couldn’t explain the fact that the null and void eating her alive was because she missed the hell out of him or that she wanted to lay with him and talk about the inevitable, just underneath the correlation of stars. She didn’t think she’d feel this way about him, not right after Finn but she was still finding her way out of this bundle of chaos, so whatever she was feeling, would be temporary. “I don’t know, maybe because you’re my only friend.”

He snorted hastily after that statement, “what about Raven, Octavia and _Lexa_? I’m pretty sure that Jasper and Monty consider you as their friend too.”

His gaze was poignant yet captivating, and she could lose herself in a pool of chocolate. Maybe he just wanted to hear her say it, that she cared about him, that she might have feelings for him because everyone acknowledged the connection, maybe she was the blind one. Maybe Bellamy felt the same - maybe. She scratched the corner of her eyebrow, pressurizing herself into coming up with an answer. “Look, I think that I can say that I care about you, alright? I mean, I think we’re at the point where we actually feel comfortable with each other and-,”

"-Clarke,"

“Bellamy,” she groaned, involuntarily taking a step forward. This war had left them apart for too long - they both fought different wars and now, they were fighting one immensely beyond their iron hearts. Clarke was too broken - mentally and physically (she was sure that she had broken a few bones in her body) - and yet all she wanted was to run. Run from this foolish crowd and run from this humiliation. Was she really going to confess to feeling something just to get a reaction? “I know that you’re not used to this but these people look up to you and I know why,” she sighed and didn’t acknowledge the close proximity between them. “Because you’re their saviour, their king and I’m pretty sure that if I lose you, I wouldn’t have been able to build this camp and protect these people. And I’m glad; I’m glad that I got to do with you. You're special to me, I guess.”

Bellamy furrowed his brows, searching her face, to see if she was playing with his feelings. Because he wasn’t sure on what to say to that - that someone needed him? The only person he had ever got gratitude from was his sister and he would burn this earth to the ground to save her, so all of the sudden, the rough facade he had before was gone - everyone needed him. He parted his lips, contemplating on what to say but there was nothing - because what on earth would he say to that?

"You don’t need to say anything," Clarke tilted her head, her eyes slowly glancing at his cut lip. She pondering on whether this was just release from all the tension or that this was something that she should’ve done a long time ago. Bellamy parted his lips to interject to this moment, but silenced once Clarke took his face into her timid hands and feverishly collided her lips with his. They could process nothing except the feverish movement of their lips. Clarke’s stalled and rusting engine of a broken body had exploded to life, a figurative spark igniting within her chest and shooting a incapacitating wave of electricity through her extremities. His lips were toxic, a combination of softness and power, or giving and taking that Clarke already found herself addicted to. "Bellamy.” She murmured against his lips, his hair prickling her fingers.

"Clarke," his voice so law and daunting. "You just lost Finn - we shouldn’t -"

"I know what I’m doing," she leaned forward to feel the delicacy of his lips again, but he shuffled back. "I think I’m in love with you."

"No you aren’t."

"But I feel something,” she traced his steps, and suddenly she realised how desperate she seemed. “Please, I want to feel something,” her eyes fluttered closed as tears began to swell in her eyes, biting her lip until the metallic taste of her blood was evident. He hesitated to speak but she grabbed his cheeks and kissed him again, but his lips failed to move. She pulled away abruptly and turned away to mask the humiliation.

Bellamy spun her round so that his arms encircled her waist tightly, and her front pressed into him far too closely for Clarke’s discomfort. Clarke could feel the heat radiating from Bellamy’s body, the hard panes of his chest and firmness of his thighs against her front. And finally, to Clarke’s surprise, she could feel the thunderous gallop of his heart beneath her shoulder. Lips smashed against each other and all seemed right and wonderful with the world. She’d waited so long to wonder how Bellamy Blake kissed and oh, was she blessed to see for herself.

"We shouldn’t do this," he murmured, gazing at her slow movements as she took off her clothing. Being placed on a more complacent surface seemed like he was trying too hard to be delicate, as if she was porcelain, but the bed was warm and soft and it was the most comfort they had both received in weeks. Clarke was smooth and he thought that his fingers could easily slip off her skin. Their lips folded together smoothly, Clarke’s body seemingly responded with consent, her tongue meeting with Bellamy’s in equal desperation. Her eyes had shut at some point; her hands resting against the strong planes of his shoulders, the hammering of Bellamy’s heart pulsating beneath her fingertips. His lips were a cool drink of water on a sweltering Virginia night, fingernails trailing along the itchiest of flesh.

It seemed too uncanny of her to proclaim how enthralling this moment is, but Bellamy Blake’s head between her thighs seemed to be the only thing keeping her mind off of everything that had happened. And a lot did happen. His tongue had skimmed through every part of her body by now and Clarke’s euphoria had overpowered her bloodstream - damn, she could feel him in his bloodstream. His head raised to meet hers and the only nagging thought in her mind was telling her to stop this - to stop feeding herself hope - that Bellamy would love her and wouldn’t leave her like Finn did. But she was sure that whatever category they were placing themselves in, she’d be jumping to conclusions. She had never felt this close to Bellamy, but it was a good thing, because he was a king and he was bad, but he was delicate and she could break him.

The only sounds reverberating in the small tent were their heavy breaths, filling whatever unnecessary thoughts that were circulating their minds. Her head and hand rested against his torso, their sweaty bodies almost tousled against each other and she was sure that she wouldn’t be able to untangle herself from him.

"Bellamy," she managed to breathe out.

"Mm, princess?"

"I can’t lose you."

He took a deep breath, “…I know."


End file.
